Lament for a Requiem
by gythia
Summary: With Ariel's permission, this is a sequel to Ariel and Aratlithiel's story Autumn's Requiem. Their story dealt with a romance between Frodo and Rosie. This sequel deals with Sam finding out about it.
1. Chapter 1

Lament for a Requiem

This is a sequel to Ariel and Aratlithiel's Autumn's Requiem. Ariel is my review buddy on and has given me the go-ahead to write an angsty followup to her story. I just hope I have done justice to her fine, award-winning tale.

Frodo had the fever again. He had gotten sick in March, seemed to improve in the fine weather of early April, but then he had gone out for a walk on a fine spring day, taking no coat or cloak with him, and had gotten caught in an unexpected rainstorm. He had returned soaked to the skin and chilled clear through, and despite all Sam's efforts at getting him dried off and some hot soup into him, Frodo had turned feverish by morning.

Now Sam sat next to him on the edge of Frodo's sickbed, applying cool compresses to his brow, as he lay mumbling in a fever dream. Frodo's eyes rolled whitely, and he spoke of random things: the hardships of the journey, the delights of the Shire when he was a young rapscallion at Brandy Hall, old friends, old enemies, old lovers— old selves.

The wet cloth in Sam's hand grew warm again. He sighed, sitting up straighter, preparing to get up and go dunk it in the basin on the nightstand and get it cold again. His movement brought Frodo almost awake for a moment, and Sam stilled. The compress could wait. Frodo had not truly woken up in the night, but Sam doubted he had gotten any real rest either. Frodo had developed an alarming tendency to sleepwalk when fevered.

Not everything Frodo said in his fever dream was intelligible by any means, and of those things Sam could make out, not all of them made sense. But now, suddenly, Frodo's words became horribly clear. Unmistakable. "Does he kiss you like that, Rosie? Does he kiss you there, in your secret heart of womanhood, the way I did? No one had ever kissed you there before. You never knew that kind of ecstasy, before. Have you ever known it again? Sweet, sweet Rosie."

Sam sprang up and backed away. The cloth dropped unheeded from his hand. "It's not true," Sam whispered to himself. "Why, Mr. Frodo talked about sailing on the sea not an hour ago, and he's surely never done that!" But Sam did not convince himself. He had been shocked when Rosie had shown him how to pleasure her with his mouth. Such ways were rare among hobbits, and though Sam had sown his wild oats in his time, he had never heard of it before.

"It's just a coincidence," Sam told himself. "Ah, who am I foolin'?" He swiped a tear from his face and left the room, leaving the door open. He went out to the nearest sitting room and collapsed into an overstuffed armchair. "No… Frodo and Rosie. Oh no." Sam buried his face in his hands and wept.

When? Sam wondered. When had it happened? Certainly before the wedding. And? And after? No, of course not. Surely not.

Just then Rosie came in from the garden with a basket of fresh greens for the kitchen, and hearing Sam's weeping, raced to him without even setting the basket down. "Sam, what ever is the matter? Has Mr. Frodo taken a turn for the worse?"

"Is Elanor mine?" Sam sobbed.

"What?!"

"Oh no, I didn't mean to say that out loud! But is she?"

"Sam Gamgee, you look at me! What is in your head that you would ask me such a thing?"

But Sam didn't look up, just tried to dry his face on his sleeve, which did not work because it only got wet again. He kept his eyes squeezed shut.

"She has such startling blue eyes," Sam wept. "Just like Frodo." 

"Sam!" Rosie sputtered, aghast. "I—" She cut herself off, seeing movement in the doorway.

Unnoticed by Sam, because Sam's eyes were closed and he was crying and gasping too hard to hear the soft hobbitish footfalls, Frodo sleepwalked past the open door and out into the sitting room. Frodo's eyes were open, but he saw nothing as he swayed in the grip of the fever. Frodo walked toward the chair in which Sam was weeping, put out his four fingered hand and bent forward. Whether he did not notice Sam and meant to sit, or whether he was trying, in some unconscious way, to offer comfort, in any case Frodo's face came close to Sam just as Sam spoke again.

"Those things you showed me," Sam sobbed to Rosie, "on our wedding night. You learned them from him!" Sam flailed his arm in the direction of Frodo's room, blindly. The wild, explosive gesture connected with something. There was a sickening smack as Sam's hand met flesh. Then, an even more horrible thunk as something fell to the tile floor.

Sam's eyes flew open. The scene in front of him made no sense at first: Frodo was sprawled on the floor, eyes open and unblinking, staring at nothing. Rosie stood a few paces away, eyes wide, hand over her mouth, her other hand still clutching a harvest basket. For a moment she turned her gaze on Sam, and the expression on her face was an odd mixture of fear and shame and regret and even grief. For one moment she met his eyes, then she turned and fled down the hallway. He watched her go, puzzled, not quite understanding what had just happened. His mind had ground to a halt.

Then he looked back down and the initial shock wore off enough for Sam to realize what he had done. "Oh no." Sam was frozen for a moment more, looking at those unseeing eyes. He was afraid Frodo was dead. Then he saw Frodo was breathing, and realized he must have been sleepwalking.

Sam got up and bent over Frodo, reaching out a hand, intending to check him for injuries, but then Sam saw his own hand was shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind. And he wondered exactly what he was feeling, to make him tremble so: relief, that Frodo was still alive? Or rage? Some inexplicable combination of the two?

He heard voices from the front door of the house: Rosie's, and a lad's voice. Sam remembered that they had been expecting a visit, but for the life of him he could not remember why, or who. Everything seemed all jumbled up in his mind. Nothing made sense. And his wits were only working fast enough for him to realize that something was wrong with them. All the world seemed caught in a spiderweb, thoroughly stuck and yet with some kind of crazy pattern to it.

Sam knelt beside Frodo and started crying again. He couldn't help it.

Frodo stirred, turning onto his back and whispering, "Heard what you said. Thought I was asleep."

For one terrible moment, Sam thought Frodo was awake, and was talking to him. That he had overheard Sam ask Rosie about their baby. Well, THE baby. No, their baby, Sam corrected himself. Elanor was Rosie's baby and he was Rosie's husband, whatever else might or might not be true.

But then Frodo continued, "You said you could not marry such a broken thing."

All the warmth seemed stolen from the room. Sam struggled to take a breath. Then finally he gasped, "Oh no. It's worse than I thought. Oh, no! I took her away from him." Sam burst into fresh tears.

He heard Rosie speaking from closer by, away from the front door, "This really isn't a good time, Mr. Pippin, Mr. Merry, I really think you ought to come back later."

"Nonsense!" said the high, youthful voice that had spoken before, which Sam now recognized as Pippin. "It's clear something is terribly wrong here, why, you look positively frightened, Rosie! We want to help, whatever it is."

Sam looked up, still crying, to see Rosie trying to shoo the much larger Merry and Pippin back down the corridor, unsuccessfully.

Merry's eyes bugged out, and Pippin's face drained white as he took in the scene. "Awk!" Pippin squeaked. "He's not dead, is he?"

Merry ran to Frodo's side and took his hand. "He's burning up! He's not dead. Feverish."

If any words could frighten Pippin more than he was already affrighted, those were those. In his mind he heard the echo of old terror: burning, already burning. He pushed past Rosie and crouched beside Merry, laying his hand on Frodo's forehead. "Yes, he's hot," Pippin said in a strangled voice. "He should be in bed."

"Come on," said Merry, "Let's get him back to bed." He and Pippin started to pick up Frodo on the same side, expecting Sam to take the other arm, but Sam could not make himself move. He was rooted to the spot, and new tears blinded him. Merry and Pippin exchanged a look, then shifted to carry Frodo themselves. After depositing him in his sickbed, they came back out, wordlessly picked up Sam and set him in the armchair.

Merry dragged over a leather settle and sat down. Pippin sat down too, and poked Merry in the ribs until he moved over for him, and gave up an equal half of the space. They waited for Sam to look at them. After a while, Sam wiped his face and looked up.

"Now, just what is going on?" Merry asked. "You looked like you lost your best friend."

"But Frodo's not dead," said Pippin, "so it must be something else. What is it?"

When Sam didn't answer, Pippin prompted, "Go on, Sam, you can tell us. No secrets between us Travellers, right?"

Sam sniffed and wiped his face again. "Guess there is, and it was as big as an Oliphaunt, too."

Rosie said quietly, "It was before. Before you went away, Sam."

"Before the War, you mean," Sam said raggedly.

"Yes." She paused, and directed her attention to the two guests. "Might you two gentlehobbits want a spot of tea in the parlour? I'll set you up there."

"Are you trying to get rid of us, Rosie?" Pippin asked.

"Of course she is, Pip," said Merry. "Look, Sam, we don't mean to intrude, but we're your friends. And this does have something to do with Frodo, doesn't it?"

Sam said, "I already guessed it was before the War. He talked in his sleep again, when you went to answer the door."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Sam. I never meant to hurt you."

"And what about him?"

"Or him neither, Sam. Nor he you. Surely you know that."

"Of course I know that!" And Sam, to his embarrassment, started crying again. "And I surely never meant to hurt him nohow!" He covered his face with his hands.

"Sam?" Merry asked. "Sam?"

After a moment, Pippin asked, "Rosie, what have we walked into?" A corner of his mouth quirked up. "And does what we've walked into come from the hindquarters of a domesticated beast? And how deep is it?"

Merry elbowed Pippin for this attempt at levity. "Pippin!"

Rosie said, "You sure you don't want some tea? Let me just go make some," and took herself off to the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder once at Sam, as if to say, We'll continue this later.

"Sam, let's start with the obvious," said Merry. "When we came in, it looked like you'd just found Frodo lying dead on the floor, but he isn't, and so that remarkable scene has some other explanation. So tell us. How did he get there? On the floor, I mean."

"I hit him."

"You what?" Merry and Pippin both said in unison.

Sam just sniffled.

"Why?" Pippin asked. "For heaven's sake, Sam!" Still Sam did not reply. Pippin muttered, "Some things in this world are just… really… wrong."

Sam made a sort of Yuh sound, as if trying to agree.

"Don't stop the tale there!" urged Merry. "What is going on?"

When Sam didn't reply, Pippin whispered to Merry, "Maybe we should let Sam alone til he's had his cry, Merry. Come on." Pippin took Merry's arm and pulled him up, and off down the corridor to the kitchen. Rosie was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as the teapot boiled.

"Rosie?" asked Merry.

She did not turn to look at them, perhaps hiding her own tears. "Shall I get out two teacups and a tray for you then, sirs?"

"Three," said Pippin. "Merry and I will tend Frodo. If he wakes up, we'll try to get him to drink some tea. Just leave him to us. You and Sam take the parlour."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Pippin." Rosie put her hands to her face for a moment, then began setting up the tray.

"What's really happening, Rosie?" Merry asked.

Pippin poked him again. "Merry, no Brandybuck ever beat a Took for curiosity, but is this the time, I ask you? Can't you see the two of them need to talk?"

Rosie handed them the tray, whatever emotion had been on her face earlier was under control now. Pippin fairly dragged Merry back past Sam and into Frodo's room, and shut the door.

"That's quite enough, Pip," said Merry, his frustrated inquisitiveness now turning to irritation. "Hands off. Granted somebody does need to look in on Frodo if Sam's too busy losing his marbles, but I think he was about to crack and tell us something!"

"He's not losing his marbles. Didn't you hear what Rosie said? She said she didn't mean to hurt Sam, and neither did Frodo." Pippin set down the tray on a table.

"Yes, yes, and Sam didn't mean to beat up Frodo, I can't believe he really hit him! I thought he'd sooner throw himself off a precipice. Frodo doesn't look marked up, anyway."

"And you always say you're the smart one," teased Pippin, pouring the tea. "You're not paying attention. Whatever Frodo said in his fever dream, Rosie didn't deny it. Instead she said she was sorry."

The implications sunk in on Merry at last. "Sorry she hurt Sam with Frodo. Oh. No." Merry turned incredulous eyes on Frodo, lying where they had set him on the bed, flushed and mumbling. "And here I thought Frodo invited them to live with him because he wanted to be close to Sam."

"I'm sure he did," Pippin said. He handed a cup to Merry, and continued while Merry sipped. "It's as plain as plain Frodo and Sam love each other more truly than either of them could ever love a lass. They just can't admit it to themselves."

Merry choked on the tea and had a coughing fit.

"What? Don't tell me you hadn't thought it, too," said Pippin. "You're supposed to be the quick witted one, remember? Or did you only get that reputation because you're eight years older than me. Now we're both grown up, it's evening out."

"What a tangled love triangle," said Merry. "How is it ever going to come out right?"

"That's for the three of them to figure out," said Pippin. "Luckily, because I'm fresh out of brilliance for the day."

"Same here," said Merry. "So let's pull up those chairs and sit down. We'll watch Frodo for however long it takes til he can watch himself."

"Excellent notion," said Pippin, fussing with his tea.

"But…"

"What, Merry?"

"Shouldn't we ought to check on Sam, too? I mean, if Sam could hit Frodo, then what else might he do?"

"You don't think—" Pippin went to the door, turned the knob carefully and opened the door just a crack, and peeked out. Then he closed it quietly. "Still there. Looks like he's getting finished with the weeping. Maybe he'll be ready for talking soon."

"Good, we'll go out when we've finished this tea."

"Talking with Rosie," Pippin corrected. "The only business you and I have in this is to look after our cousin."

"Sam's our friend too!" said Merry indignantly. "We should try to help him."

"We are. We're letting Sam deal with this without having to care for Frodo at the same time."

"You do that, Pippin," said Merry. "I'm going to referee the upcoming fight."

"Merry! That's, that's, well it's just not a good idea."

"Pippin, think! Sam said he hit Frodo. If he's angry enough to do that, he's angry enough to do it to anybody."

Pippin stared at him open mouthed. After a moment, he stammered, "I—I don't think he would. And, and anyway he's not angry now, he's bawling his eyes out."

"That's true enough," said Merry. "Well, maybe 'referee' is a poorly chosen word. Maybe 'eavesdrop on' would be better. Just to make sure nobody gets hurt."

"Merry!"

"It's not like we've never spied on anybody, Pippin. Sam's done it too, don't forget."

"That was different!"

"I promise I'll leave if they start, um, making up."

"I should hope so!" exclaimed Pippin.

A noise from the bed drew their attention. "Look," said Merry, "I think Frodo's coming around."

Frodo did indeed wake up. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Hello, Merry, Pippin. I had quite forgotten you planned to visit." Frodo's cheerful smile died on his lips as he took in the expressions of his cousins. "What is it? You haven't looked that worried since the set-to at Bywater."

"Do you remember," Merry began, "Well no, I don't suppose you would. People don't remember talking in their sleep."

"What did I say? What, what is it? I wasn't talking to It again, was I?"

"No, Frodo, nothing like that," assured Pippin. "It's nothing, we were all just worried about you being sick, is all."

"Well—" Merry began.

Pippin elbowed him, and Merry gave him a thin-lipped look but fell silent.

"What?" Frodo asked.

Merry said, "Just rest, Frodo. Would you like some tea? Rosie just made a fresh pot."

"What?" he demanded. "Yes, I would like some tea, now please tell me what I said that has got you two acting like you just sat on an anthill."

Merry cleared his throat. He took a cautionary step away from Pippin's elbow, and said, "You told Sam you slept with Rosie and he beat you up."

"What?! Um, April Fools?"

"No joke, Frodo," said Pippin, "even Merry's taste in humor isn't quite that bad." Pippin ducked as Merry aimed a cousinly slap at the back of his head.

Frodo sat up and felt his arms, face, and torso. "I'm not hurt." He combed the four fingers of his maimed hand into his hair, and winced. "Well, I do seem to have a lump on my head, at that. But I can't believe it!"

"Well, did you, um," asked Pippin.

"I did. Not recently! It was before the quest."

"Oh," Pippin breathed, "well that's good anyway."

"You didn't think I—wait, Sam doesn't think I, I, betrayed him, does he?"

Pippin shrugged. "Well, he did hit you."

"How awful!" Frodo tried to get out of bed, and Merry caught him as he staggered dizzily. "I must clear this up at once! Where is Sam?"

"You stay put, Frodo, I'll find Sam," said Merry. "Stay with him, Pip."

Meanwhile, Sam came to the end of his weeping, and dried his face. He sought out Rosie in the kitchen, but she was not there. He looked in several rooms, growing increasingly worried, then realized she must have sought the peace of the garden. That's what he would have done himself, he figured. But she was not out there either. He walked all the way around the Hill, then thought to look up. There she was! Rosie was sitting under the big oak tree on top of the Hill, resting her back against the gnarled, old tree.

Sam climbed up the hill and sat down beside her. "Rosie, I'm sorry for that scene. I'm nought but a ninnyhammer, what I said."

"I'm sorry, too, Sam."

"I can see well enough that whatever was between you, it was over when you saw him again, when we got back. And that was my fault. I didn't protect him well enough, and then I come back and steal you."

"I was waiting for you, Sam," said Rosie quietly. "You didn't steal me away, I chose you, and you suit me. I'd never make a gentlewoman, Sam, and what was between me and Frodo was nothing that could have been any more, if you understand me."

Sam blinked uncertainly. "Do you mean because of, of, your station?"

Rosie smiled a little. "After all you and he have been through together, you still call him Mr. And so do I. Even then, I did. That's a gap that even you can't cross, let alone me. You're his heart, and his right hand, and yet that distance between you is still ironclad. Surely you see it couldn't be overcome between The Mr. Baggins of Bag End and a tavern wench."

Sam made a noise of protest, but Rosie held up a hand, and continued.

"Even if you and he had never gone away, it was always you I meant to have. I wanted to marry an equal, Sam. Not someone I felt inferior to. What kind of marriage would that be, with one of the partners always feeling less than the other? It would be hellish, no matter how hard he tried to bend himself around to fit me. No, Sam, it could never be. I was always meant for you. I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Rosie." This time the tears that spilled from his eyes were sweet. He took her in his arms and held her tight, heart to thumping heart. They embraced under the tree, and kissed fiercely, heedless of the neighbors and the buzzing of the bees among the flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

Lament for a Requiem Chapter 2

Merry came back to find Pippin sitting quietly next to a sleeping Frodo. "He's fallen asleep again," Pippin whispered. "Did you find Sam?"

"They were locked in their room. Not arguing, or at least not saying anything very loudly, so presumably they're, um…"

"Having a reconciliation," supplied Pippin, winking.

Merry reddened. He turned away and realigned a chair, and sat down. "Look, Frodo's waking up again—or not."

Frodo was "or not", indeed; he was trying to rise from the bed, huge blue eyes staring at nothing.

"Sleepwalking," Pippin said. He planted a hand on Frodo's chest and tried to push him back down. "Stay in b—"

The reaction was instantaneous. Frodo's vacuous expression changed to a monstrous snarl and he snapped at Pippin's hand. Pippin yipped and recoiled, snatching back his hand. There was a mad light in Frodo's white-rimmed eyes as he tried to jump after him.

"Eeee! He tried to bite me!"

Merry leaped up and grabbed Frodo around the waist, pinning his arms. "Ai! Now I see what Sam's been putting up with." Merry toppled onto the bed and took Frodo down with him. "Help me with him," Merry said, "keep him down while I get out from under."

Pippin hesitated a moment, then took Frodo by the arms. This time Frodo did not fight. "Note to self: never yank Frodo's chain." Pippin eyed the while jewel around Frodo's neck. "'Cause he forgets what's on the end of it. Or what's not."

Merry got up and pulled Frodo's covers back up over him. "Aren't people supposed to leave sleepwalkers alone?"

"Sure, just let him walk about where he can run into stray fists."

"Hmm. I guess you're right, Pippin, we should try to keep him in his room. This is going to be a long night. You take first watch."

It was morning. Sunshine streamed through Sam's window and sparkled on the honey curls of Rosie's hair, next to him on the pillow. He loved her, and he knew she loved him. She even preferred him to the glorious Frodo. But it was going to be long time before he felt all was right with the world. Just like the silver mallorn sapling in the party field was a wonder to behold, but was going to take years growing before it would make a proper party tree. Sam sighed and climbed out of bed. Well, trees and marriages didn't bloom overnight, and in the meantime there was work to do.

Sam decided to make some toast and sausages for breakfast. He got down his second favorite pan. His first favorite was in a fissure on the plain of Gorgoroth. He built up the fire, and sliced the bread. Would two loaves do? Better make it three, just in case Frodo's appetite returned, and after all the two guests were exceptionally tall hobbits and would put away a lot.

The whole world was quiet this early in the morning, even the wind wasn't blowing yet. There was an illusion of peace. For a moment he wished this quiet space of time would go on forever; then he put the thought away as unworthy. All his favorite hobbits in the whole world were asleep in this hole right now—well, except for his gaffer--, and though he did not know how he was going to fix things between himself and Frodo, nothing was going to get solved by avoiding everybody.

He put the kettle on for breakfast tea, and set out butter and blackberry jam, and a jar of honey. Before long the scent of the sizzling sausages roused the sleeping hobbits. Rosie strode into the kitchen in her white dress and her new spring green bodice—her old grey one was too small now, after the baby—and started setting the table. She smiled at Sam, and he smiled back. Perhaps it wasn't quite happily ever after, but it would do.

Merry wandered in next, from the direction of Frodo's room. He had clearly slept in his clothes. Sam had seen Merry rub his eyes just like that so many times on the journey. It was odd to see the gesture here, in Bag End.

"Morning, Sam," said Merry blearily.

"Morning, Mr. Merry."

Merry took in the table arrangements Rosie was making, and said, "Never mind the fancy dishes, Rosie, we're turn and turn about, so we won't be out at the same time. One of us will come for a tray for Frodo when he wakes up."

Merry picked up a plate and started serving himself from the pan while it was still on the stove, causing Rosie to flit about making little hand motions and disapproving noises. "Mr. Merry, please, sit down and let us serve you, 'tain't proper, the future Master of Buckland serving hisself in the kitchen."

Merry grinned. "I remember when Sam used to say such things. Such sentiments don't survive long on the road. I assure you, just having a roof over my head is luxury enough, even after all this time."

"Still," Sam said, "won't you sit down?"

"I will, but this plate is for Pippin. I'll be back for mine in a moment." Merry slathered some butter on the toast, then put the place setting on the plate and went back to Frodo's room.

"Oh, dear," Sam muttered, seeing where he had gone, "I do believe Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin slept on the floor in Frodo's room. There are plenty of spare rooms."

Merry came back out in a minute and allowed Sam and Rosie to wait on him, but insisted that they then sit down with him and have their breakfast too. Sam thought nothing of it, but Rosie looked uncomfortable all through the meal. She was not used to such familiarity.

Merry noticed, and saw an opportunity for a bit of fun. "Don't let it bother you, Rosie, Sam's sat down with kings. In fact, Sam's sat on the King's throne, along with Frodo. And everybody cheered and sang."

Sam blushed, but he looked sidelong at Rosie to see if she was impressed. She was also looking sideways at him, and the two of them shared a little smile. It took Sam back to when they were courting, in the days after the scouring of the Shire. The days when he was helping to clean up Bag End, and Frodo was living at the Cottons'. That must have been when Frodo heard Rosie talk about him when she thought he was sleeping, Sam thought. He hid his sudden seriousness behind a teacup.

Despite Merry's insistence on treating Sam as an equal at the table, he had no problem with walking off back to Frodo's room after eating and leaving the clearing up for Rosie and Sam. Rosie put the butter, jam, and honey in the cupboard while Sam went to draw water. He returned with a full pail and the two of them worked on the plates and pan.

"What's to come of us, Sam?" Rosie asked.

"What do you mean?"

Rosie gestured around at the smial. "Are we staying?"

"'Course we're staying," said Sam. "This is our hole now, too, well anyway it will be."

"I know we've made a home of it," Rosie said, "but I never mentioned any of this before because I was afraid it would spoil things."

"What, you mean you think I'd leave Frodo? Seek another position?"

Rosie shrugged. "There are lots of rich folks with gardens that I have no history with."

"Put that thought right out of your head," said Sam. "Frodo's a lot more than an employer to me, Rosie. He needs taking care of, and I mean to do it."

"But what if he doesn't want you to stay?"

"Not want me to? Frodo needs me."

Rosie nodded. "This is all so awkward. I thought you had stopped courting me because you were no longer interested. I was just looking for a bit of a romp, that night, and it turned into this. This, mess."

"'That night'?" Sam quoted.

"Yes, Sam, it was just one night," Rosie sighed. "Not that I didn't think about more, but it was just a moonbeam fantasy, like thinking about riding off to fairyland on a unicorn. I admit I did fancy living in Bag End. That part came true. With you. And so it turned out even better. Fairyland without you is just a lot o' moonshine."

"Aw, Rosie." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

A clatter alerted them that they were no longer alone. Pippin was bringing back his plate. "Frodo's awake. I'll bring him some of that toast, and some tea."

"I'll bring it," Sam said. "I want to talk to him." Sam arranged a tray and followed Pippin back to Frodo's room. Inside, he made to settle the tray on Frodo's lap, but Merry took the tray from him and served Frodo himself, blocking Sam from getting too close.

Frodo realized what Merry was doing, and chided, "Merry, I don't need to be protected from Sam."

"The knot on your noggin tells another story," said Merry. "Now eat your toast."

Frodo obediently bit into a piece of bread and jam. Sam tried to think of something to say, and fidgeted with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Sam," said Frodo. "I should have come clean before we left the Shire, and then you wouldn't've had this nasty surprise. But I wasn't sure if we were coming back. Or, if I was coming back. I mean, I didn't see any reason to hurt you with this knowledge, knowing how the thought of Rosie kept you going, if we were just going to die anyway. And after we left, I didn't think about it much. I'm afraid I haven't thought about much of anything, except my own problems, recently."

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Those're enough to keep anyone busy with thinking. And I'm sorry too. I wish you didn't have those problems. I wish I'd done better at keeping you safe."

"Sam, no one could have helped me better. My dear Sam."

"Um, how are you feeling, Mr. Frodo?"

"Well, Sam, it appears that I'll live. And since that's so, I suppose I ought to make sure this kind of thing doesn't sneak up on any more of my friendships. I should make a clean breast of everything, get all the awkwardness over with at the same time." Frodo cast an appraising look at Pippin.

Pippin caught the look. "A, Frodo, if you're about to confess to sleeping with my sister…"

Merry gripped Pippin's arm, as if afraid he was going to have to protect Frodo from him, too.

"I already know," Pippin finished. He pulled his arm out of Merry's grasp. "Pearl boasts about her conquests."

Merry was surprised into a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed.

"'Conquests'?!" Frodo quoted.

Pippin held up a hand. "Her word, Frodo. Because you're not so easy to get, you see. I'm afraid most of the lasses think of you that way. Most of the ones that gossip with my older sisters where I can hear them, anyway."

"Pip, you little spy," Merry said admiringly. "What do they say about me, then?"

"Who, Pearl? Not you too!"

"Gad, Pip, we're first cousins! Their gossipy friends, nitwit!"

"Oh, well, there's…"

Frodo cleared his throat. "I believe I have the floor, gentlehobbits."

"No, you have the bed," said Pippin. "We have the floor." He pointed to a nest of pillows and blankets he had pulled out of the linen closet last night.

Frodo smiled despite the seriousness of the situation.

"You smiled!" Pippin exclaimed. "Thank you, thank you, and for my next conjuration…" He bowed like a stage performer.

"I see my outbreak of honesty is years too late in this case," said Frodo. "Sorry, Pippin."

"Don't be. She's not."

"While everybody's saying they're sorry," Sam put in. "Um, me too." Sam looked down as the three cousins turned to look at him. "For knocking you down. I didn't mean to."

"I know, Sam." Frodo held out a hand, on the side of the bed away from Merry and Pippin. Sam went to Frodo and took his hand, and Frodo covered their clasped hands with his other hand. Then he closed his eyes and sank back against the cushions. He drifted into a half asleep state. He looked peaceful. Fragile, and too thin, and still flushed with fever, but peaceful.

"Now wait a moment," Merry said in a hushed voice, so as not to wake Frodo. "Just say you didn't mean it and everything's alright? I don't know about that. Next you'll be saying he fell."

"He did fall."

"After you hit him."

"Yes."

"I'm going to be watching you, Samwise," Merry warned.

Without opening his eyes, Frodo said weakly, "Sam wouldn't hurt me."

"He already did."

"But don't you see—I know what it is to be pushed past all endurance. Everybody's got their breaking spot in a different place. Sam's is over Rosie. At least his is a person, not a damned piece of jewelry." Frodo coughed, and made a sound in his throat that was disconcertingly Gollum-like. He let go of Sam's hand to finger the white gem lying against his chest. "Lost…" Frodo fell asleep.

Sam sighed, and patted Frodo's hand. He picked up the mostly still full tray of food and left the room. "That's a tree what's going to need some feeding afore it'll flower again," Sam commented to himself. "Patience, that's what."

He set down the tray in the kitchen and went out into the garden. He looked about for a task to do, something to putter around with to stay out of Merry and Pippin's way while they looked after Frodo. His master's cousins meant well, but they would return to their home at Crickhollow soon enough, and in after years, one was destined to rule Brandy Hall, the other, the Great Smials. But Sam would always be here, at Bag End, to do for Mr. Frodo. He had patience enough to last a lifetime.

Sam's gaze rose to the party field. The mallorn tree was blooming.


End file.
